MAEA
Carry me through this world alive
I feel no more, this suffering
I feel no more, this suffering
In the cold Halo dawn, a lone figure walked across the ice. Woefully underdressed for the biting temperature, with long hair and threadbare skirt whipping frost-white in the hard wind, she looked a wraith of the wastes. Small, thin, not someone who should be able to survive in this climate. Or rather, someone born of it, perfectly adapted to the surroundings.
It was all a hoax, of course. A trick of magic, the boon of a god that she should walk the winter wastes without being touched by its wrath. Maea kept her shawl wrapped tight about her shoulders and wished the wind would let up so she could let go of it, but was too afraid to have it swept off into the expanse. The wind showed no signs of wanting to settle either, so she resigned herself to practicing with her hands occupied. Might be a good thing in the end, who knew.
This far away from other people, the slender young woman allowed herself to let the barriers down on the magic that swirled and swelled within her. With no one around to hurt and nothing to destroy should she lose control, she reached for the ice around her, within her, and began to mold it. Shape it, pull it up from beneath her feet and down from the sky, creating shapes and things from her imagination until a wonderland of strange and twisted sculptures stood around her.
Once the worst of the press within her had settled, she coughed, a dry, hacking sound that shook her thin frame, and set to wander her labyrinthine creation. Too see what she had really created, and think of new ways to mold this power. To control it, and bend it to her will.
It was all a hoax, of course. A trick of magic, the boon of a god that she should walk the winter wastes without being touched by its wrath. Maea kept her shawl wrapped tight about her shoulders and wished the wind would let up so she could let go of it, but was too afraid to have it swept off into the expanse. The wind showed no signs of wanting to settle either, so she resigned herself to practicing with her hands occupied. Might be a good thing in the end, who knew.
This far away from other people, the slender young woman allowed herself to let the barriers down on the magic that swirled and swelled within her. With no one around to hurt and nothing to destroy should she lose control, she reached for the ice around her, within her, and began to mold it. Shape it, pull it up from beneath her feet and down from the sky, creating shapes and things from her imagination until a wonderland of strange and twisted sculptures stood around her.
Once the worst of the press within her had settled, she coughed, a dry, hacking sound that shook her thin frame, and set to wander her labyrinthine creation. Too see what she had really created, and think of new ways to mold this power. To control it, and bend it to her will.
Bury me in this cold light
I feed the wolf, and shed my skin
I feed the wolf, and shed my skin
